


Cultural Appropriation

by Seiya234



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:42:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiya234/pseuds/Seiya234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, how Cecil found out what a total asshole the Apache Tracker is.</p><p>Seriously, who in town sold him that stupid, fake, headdress? Ugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cultural Appropriation

**Author's Note:**

> A little warning.
> 
> I've been wanting to do this fic for awhile, but I myself am not Native American.
> 
> So if you see glaring inaccuracies, please point them out to me. Thanks!

On the whole, Cecil tried not to call people out on the air-

(except for Steve Carlsburg. He knows what he did.)

-because after all, this is Night Vale's community news! Not the "listen to Cecil groan and moan for an hour show".

Then Cecil ran into the erstwhile 'Apache Tracker' and decided that he would have to make another exception.

* * *

Cecil first bumped into him while getting groceries at the Ralph's.

Or rather, the man saw Cecil, noticed that he was Native American, and felt that it was okay to immediately pester Cecil.

"Hello my Apache brother!" he said and did some kind of stupid chest thump thing.

Cecil was, for once, absolutely dumbfounded. He was at a loss for words because did this asshole really just say what he thought he said and wait, what?

"My name is 'Tracks-By-Night' but I really prefer to be called the Apache Tracker. What's your name brother?"

By this point, Cecil's vision had gone red, and he was so furious that he had gone past the edge of fury and into this icy calm, but he still managed to say "Cecil. Cecil Baldwin."

The blonde man in front of him actually had the temerity to snort. "No! Your real name, your Apache name."

He. Did. Not. Just. Say. That.

"Now you listen here," Cecil said, his Voice pinning the blonde man in front of him against the shelf of cereal.

Other shoppers stopped to see what was happening, if only because Cecil getting angry was a rare occurrence, and when he did get angry, it was worth seeing.

"One: not that it is any of your business, but I am not Apache; my family is from Acoma. Two, Cecil is my name you twit. If I have any other names, they are, once again, none. Of. Your. Business. Three: I don't know if you have ever heard of the term 'cultural appropriation'; actually, I'm sure you haven't. Which is a shame because you are the ultimate textbook example of it."

The blonde man tried to say something but quailed from a look from Cecil.

"Finally, don't ever try and talk to me again, you giant jerk."

With that, Cecil turned and wheeled his cart away, to the applause of the various men, women, Erikas, and eldrich abominations gathered round.

* * *

He still wasn't going to give that prick the satisfaction of a mention on the radio, however negative, but two days later he saw the Apache Tracker (and damn the man for not giving any other name because now he was going to think of him like that and uggggggggggh) in a....

No.

No he did not.

He did not go out and get a stupid, fake, headdress.

And said he could read tracks on asphalt.

That was it. No more Nice Cecil.

* * *

"...Can you believe this guy said he used "Indian magicks"? What an asshole."


End file.
